How Sgt. Henry Johnson's Argonne Stand Defined the Harlem Hellfighters

Oct 03 , 2025

How Sgt. Henry Johnson's Argonne Stand Defined the Harlem Hellfighters

Blood-soaked snow. The howl of a midnight raid. Sgt. Henry Johnson stood alone, wounded, bullets ripping past him, knives flashing in the dark. Every breath told a story of pain and defiance. Against odds no sane man should face, he held the line. He became a shield forged of courage and fury.

From Albany Streets to the Trenches of France

Henry Johnson was born in 1892, in the bruising confines of Albany, New York. Raised in a city that turned its back on Black men, he carried the weight of scorn before he ever strapped on a uniform. When World War I swallowed thousands, Johnson answered the call through the all-Black 369th Infantry Regiment — the “Harlem Hellfighters.”

They fought not just for America but for a promise the country still forgot. His faith was quiet but unshakable, a foundation for honor amidst chaos. He carried more than a rifle; he bore the prayers of those left behind.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lord your God goes with you.” — Deuteronomy 31:6

The Raid at Argonne: A Last Stand Immortalized

The night of May 15, 1918—deep in the Argonne Forest—changed everything. German raiders launched a surprise attack on Johnson’s unit, a shadowed storm in the trenches. Outnumbered, outgunned, Henry Johnson grabbed a hand grenade and a bolo knife, wading into the slaughter.

He fought for hours, blood pouring from fifty wounds, including seven to his face and a shattered jaw. Twisted metal tore his body. His belt broke. Yet he never faltered.

Johnson killed or wounded multiple attackers, dragging the mortally wounded Private Needham Roberts to safety. Only then did he collapse, face bathed in sweat and blood, heartbeat barely holding the line between life and death.

His tenacity stopped the raid. He saved the entire patrol and blunted the German attack.

Recognition Born of Valor—and Delay

France awarded Johnson the Croix de Guerre with a star, one of the highest honors for valor. But back home, recognition crawled at a crawl. Racial bias gnawed the nation's gratitude.

It took nearly a century—until 2015—for Sgt. Henry Johnson to be posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor by President Barack Obama.

Colonel William Hayward, Johnson’s commander, said of the hari-hero:

“He showed no thought for himself. His brave stand under relentless attack inspired every man in his company.”

Johnson’s Medal of Honor citation unambiguously states:

“For extraordinary heroism in action while serving with Company C, 369th Infantry, 93d Division. Sergeant Johnson’s valor and self-sacrifice proved to be an example to all soldiers who hold freedom dear and are willing to fight for it.”

The Immortal Fire: Legacy Beyond Combat

Henry Johnson’s fight did not end in the trenches. His story echoes through the ages as a testament to sacrifice and the fight for dignity. He was a pioneer, a soldier who shattered layers of racism with every slash of his knife.

His journey reminds all combat veterans that courage isn’t born in comfort. It is forged in the crucible of brotherhood, blood, and scars that never fully heal but define a lifetime.

“Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” — John 15:13

Today, the Harlem Hellfighters’ legacy—anchored by men like Johnson—shapes the Army’s soul. Their sacrifice beckons new soldiers to bear the weight of freedom with fierce resolve.

Redemption Woven in Red and Valor

Sgt. Henry Johnson bled in the mud for a nation still blind to his worth. Yet, his story demands remembrance—not just as an artifact but as a lesson burned into history:

Courage endures beyond injury. Sacrifice transcends injustice. Valor answers the call no matter the color of skin.

When the world turns dark, and the bayonets come, the spirit of Henry Johnson stands unwavering. His legacy is not just a page in a dusty book but the fire we kindle in every warrior’s heart who fights for a broken world to be made whole.

Let his scars speak—not of pain alone—but of redemption earned one brutal breath at a time.